


innocence died screaming

by fawnwrites



Series: i cry over hr: aerois [2]
Category: Yogscast "High Rollers" D&D Campaign
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Panic Attacks, discussion of lucius & novas sibling relationship, tho its more like hurt then comfort then more hurt, very briefly referenced qill/lucius b/c that ship is canon in my fics ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 16:34:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21377161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawnwrites/pseuds/fawnwrites
Summary: YOUR FAMILY IS DEADpulses in his brain:YOUR HOME IS GONE, YOUR CHILDHOOD IS GONE, YOUR FAMILY IS DEAD.the voice almost sounds like him, but just somewhat wrong. there’s no emotion to the thought-- whichshouldscare him, but it doesn’t.it’s just a statement. a fact.it’s just logic.--or: an exploration and interpretation of lucius' mental state following the events of episode 38 & i fight canon with my own two hands
Series: i cry over hr: aerois [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536643
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	innocence died screaming

**Author's Note:**

> lucius. is so desperately in need of support and love dear god  
i wanted to try to write like.. the party actually reaching out to him from the beginning but him still struggling regardless, yknow? that's an important thing to represent imo -- the fact lucius has spent a good portion of time effectively inconsolable.  
let lucius grieve and then recover from his trauma 2k19
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!  


Lucius’ knees make impact with the ground. His upper half contorts at an angle unnatural enough to hurt, but he can’t feel it.

He can’t feel anything but a tingling sensation, consuming his body and mind. Everything is so far away; foggy, distant. Blurry.

_YOUR FAMILY IS DEAD_ pulses in his brain: _YOUR HOME IS GONE, YOUR CHILDHOOD IS GONE, YOUR FAMILY IS DEAD._ The voice almost sounds like him, but just somewhat wrong. There’s no emotion to the thought-- which _should_ scare him, but it doesn’t.

It’s just a statement. A fact.

It’s just logic.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, trembling on his knees. It could’ve been seconds, or hours, or days. The only thing he can feel is the presence of his companions, their stares burning holes into his body.

And then, he passes out. He can’t remember doing it— but one moment he’s staring at concrete and dirt, and the next he’s in Aila’s arms, pressed against her chest.

“Aila,” he says, his voice weak. She stiffens a bit, and looks down at him expectantly, a brow raised. After only a few moments of Lucius fumbling for something to say, he decides it doesn’t matter and stops trying. He lets his head roll back and stares out at Gusthaven while his companion carries him.

He should thank her. Or at least ask where they’re going. But he doesn’t care enough to bother right now.

Nothing matters anymore.

To fill his empty brain, he takes to observing things. Pyri is walking a short distance away from the rest of the group, perhaps ten feet back or so, and his posture is remarkably stiff. He holds his body in a way that practically radiates awkward, embarrassed energy.

Nova stands close to Aila, looking like she’s holding back tears. She has this weird rhythm going: she looks at Lucius, makes the briefest eye contact, and every possible emotion flashes through her eyes. Then, quick as she looked at him, she curtly turns her head and winces.

He can’t see Sentry’s face (not that it would matter, since guardians can’t exactly express emotions). She’s carrying Qill.

Qill.

The painfully rational voice in his brain takes to screaming facts again. _QILL’S DEAD_ blares in his mind. _YOUR HOME IS GONE, YOUR CHILDHOOD IS GONE, YOUR FAMILY IS DEAD, YOUR LOVE IS DEAD._

He makes a choking sound, which causes Aila to jolt, and loosen her grasp on him just a little bit. She’s trying to be gentle, he reasons, because she thinks he’s like glass right now. Squeeze him too hard, he’ll break.

She’s right.

Qill’s corpse was the sucker-punch to the stab wound Lucius didn’t need right now. The world suddenly snaps into an intense focus. The fog clouding his brain before is gone now, and everything is painfully, miserably real.

He squirms desperately and-or pathetically in Aila’s arms, gasping and whimpering. Suddenly instead of _nothing_ he’s feeling _everything_ and it’s _**too much—**_

(Aila stops in her tracks. Everyone looks at her with the same “what do I do?” look she’s shooting them.

“Somebody do _something,_” she mouths, desperation masked with rage.)

—Lucius’ brain is swimming with emotions and imagery and _he can’t breathe._

This one time, growing up, he learned about the five stages of grief, and he’s pretty sure he’s feeling all of them right now.

Grief. What a funny word. It’s too short for the pain it describes.

He can’t tell if he’s screaming— his own volume escapes him, right now everything is just **_loud—_** but his sobs wrack through his body violently, making him shiver and hiccup.

_DEAD_ the once-rational voice screams. It’s not logical anymore, just violent. _DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD GONE GONE GONE GONE_

He stops breathing, and then he starts again, and it becomes an agonizing cycle. The air he gulps down burns his lungs (_BURNS LIKE THE FIRE THAT KILLED THEM, DEAD_) and he wants it to _stop,_ wants to go back to the nothingness, to the fog and the gray and the not-quite-feeling, that was _so much better—_

Dimly, he feels someone approach. The person delicately cups his face, fingers brushing tears off his cheek. They sing gently; whispered affirmations that he’ll be okay and that he’s loved, somewhat in tune to a children’s song. He recognizes it, but it takes a moment.

It’s Nova.

His wailing stops suddenly to look up at her. As he does, she stops too, taking an awkward step back and biting into her lip, clearly embarrassed. “I-I didn’t know what to do, sorry,” she says, polite but quick. He can hear her voice breaking. “My mom would do it when I was sad. I can stop, if—?”

“No.” He replies, a little too loudly. “It’s nice. It’s… I… keep— please—” his voice becomes useless, turning back into the dry sobs.

Nova quickly takes the step forward, holding his face once again.

“We’re here for you,” she hums. “Your friends are here for you. It’s going to be alright, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You can survive this. We love you.”

Lucius can hear her— can feel Aila hold him steady and gently. But he can’t stop crying.

“It’ll be alright, Lucius.”

He can’t believe them.

-

Lucius barely remembers being put in a living chamber, let alone being taken to the palace.

Really, the entirety of yesterday is a swirling mass of _almost_ memories— out of focus, and from the wrong perspective, like it didn’t happen to him. Like he watched it happen instead of lived through it.

Like maybe it was all a bad dream.

(He wants to pretend it was. That _everything_ that’s happened in the past month was a horrific nightmare, and he’s woken up, finally, in the real world.

But then he notices a hastily folded paper on his bedside table, the name “Nova” printed neatly on it with a heart doodled on the side, and he smiles despite himself.

He doesn’t want his friends to be a nightmare.)

He stares at the paper for a long time, sleep and stress mixing to blur his vision. He hardly has the strength to push himself up from bed, he feels so weak, but he forces himself too, anyways. The blankets are incredibly soft beneath his fingertips as he drags himself up.

Quickly, he takes Nova’s letter off the desk, silently wondering how she managed to get it in the room. He almost doesn’t register the scroll behind it.

Almost.

It’s definitely of his family’s design; neat, regal. Mocking Lucius from the countertop.

He freezes at the sight of it— but forces himself to take a breath. Nova’s letter is a warmth in his hands, grounding him to reality. _I’ll think about this later. I need to see what Nova wants to tell me first,_ he thinks to himself and unfolds the paper in his hands.

It reads:

_Lucius,_

_Hi! It’s Nova. They won’t let anyone stay with you but I wanted to write you something because I know you’re going through a lot right now and I really care about you. We all do._

_I’m really worried about you, honestly. I know you just need time and it’s okay if you also need space, or if you don’t want to talk. But in case you do, you can come to me, and I’ll do my best to listen and be there for you. I won’t judge you or anything! Your feelings are safe with me._

_Pinkie promise._

_With love,_

_Nova_

Lucius smiles to himself. He feels… not _happy,_ per say, but a numb almost-euphoria; relief-adjacent. Everything’s really fucked up right now, sure, but he still has friends— arguably a family, closer and more affectionate than his ever was. And that’s something to stay sane for.

He takes a steadying breath and looks back up to the Elenasto scroll.

It only takes a moment for sickly panic to grip his body again, leaving him motionless and numb. His throat suddenly feels swollen; his mouth dry and nose stuffed.

He has to read it— he knows he has too. He gently sets Nova’s letter on the bed, and reaches towards the scroll. But he stops at the last moment, feeling himself begin to hyperventilate.

Admittedly, he feels quite pathetic— in such a weak state he can’t even look at a _scroll_ without almost _sobbing?_ (Maybe, maybe, maybe, he’s weak and undeserving and _they’re gone and he should be gone with them,_ and— and maybe, his companions should’ve _left him in the crash to die)—_

His wandering mind descends into chaos once again.

_GONE,_ his mind screams. He stares at the scroll for he-doesn’t-know-how-long. _GONE. THOSE ARE THE LAST WORDS YOU WILL EVER READ FROM THEM. DEAD._

And this time, there’s no one around to hear him cry.


End file.
